Heart of a Pirate
by FeatheredCrown
Summary: One-shots following the exploits of Hawke during his/her rise as the Champion, witnessed through the eyes of his crafty pirate companion. You've already lived the adventures of Hawke, and now catch a glimpse deep within Isabela's heart of hearts and enjoy a whole new story from her perspective. From her origins, to her end. In times of insecurity and victory. Meet Isabela!
1. Act 1: Tits n' Ass

Down, down, down and…ah…  
The wonderful delicacies of the Hanged Man never lead me astray. I give my head a rough shake. The swill burns like Hell on the way down. I trail the rim of my abused mug with my dark-skinned fingers as I gaze around the tavern. From what I've gathered, its dank, ratty, musky, and stank of sweat and desperation. Not a bad place to crash a ship in. Kirkwall reminds me of a bottled-up Ferelden with its simple, boring fashion, declining politics, and watered-down criminals who couldn't tell their ass from their elbow*.  
The tavern door opens with a bang. I glance up and see—lo' and behold—Lucky the Simpleton and his gang. I sigh and return to my drink, hopefully the idiot isn't sniffing for me.  
For his own sake.  
But, as fate would have it, his boys waddle on over and surround my seat, a weak attempt at intimidation. I take stock of the situation and decide that I'm already bored. His two lackeys are a foot or so behind my back, cocksure and amateur, weapons sheathed. Lucky himself is going for the casually dangerous look, awkwardly lounging on the bar beside me.  
He stares at me with a glazed look in his eye, not an uncommon occurrence when dealing with sex-deprived men. Well, that's a lie. Open ogling happens with just about all men, and most women. I ignore him and take a swig of my ale. This goes on for a minute or two.  
Stare, drink. Stare, drink. Yawn, yawn, yawn.  
Eventually—finally—Lucky speaks, leaning closer to leer at my breasts.  
"You owe us, Isabela," he growls. He's referring to the coin I promised him in return for information on the Relic. He failed to deliver, so I remind him of what I said two nights ago. I take another sip first.  
"Well Lucky, I'll tell you what," I say slowly, to give him time to understand. "Since the information you gave me was worth nothing…"  
Pause for effect.  
"That's what I'll pay you." I grasp my mug to take another drink when he slams it back on the bar with one greasy hand. Big mistake number one.  
"Me and my boys will get our money's worth, bitch," he snarls. Big mistake number two. Up until this moment I hadn't spared a glance at the sewer rat, but now he has my attention. I almost feel sorry for the poor sot. I roll my head to meet his watery eyes and coo.  
"Oh you poor, sweet thing." I lean close to him, my lips inches from his. He hesitates, mistaking my glare for a smoulder. Idiot. I grab his wrist that still covers my drink, yanking him closer. He stumbles and I grab his stringy hair, pounding his ugly face once, twice on the bar before releasing him. He falls back on his arse. Not so lucky then.  
One of his boys wraps his arms around my waist and arms, stupidly not bothering to reach for the blades strapped to his back. He lifts me from the floor while his buddy reaches for a bottle on a nearby table.  
At the corner of my eye I see a woman, a dwarf, an elf, and a man. The woman is watching our little brawl with a smirk.  
Lucky's goon raises his bottle over his head with a grimacing snarl, returning my attention to my predicament. I buck my head and with a crack of my captor's nose breaking, I'm free. I crouch swiftly and grunt number one smashes the bottle over the head of grunt number two. I rise from my crouch and punch grunt number one's face. Twice. A swift knee to the balls, and he's down.  
Lucky, finally recovering from my first blow, goes for his broadsword. I slide one of my daggers from my boot and rest the tip snuggly under his chin. Lucky blanches, apprehension in his eyes. I allow myself time to soak in the look on his face before speaking.  
"Tell me, Lucky," I stare deep into his eyes. He doesn't mistake my glare this time. "Is this worth dying for?"  
He backs off, his goons staggering after him. I follow his head with my blade until he scurries out of the tavern. I lean against the bar with a chuckle, admiring my work. I see the woman again, watching me with renewed interest. I smile and take another swig.  
"I didn't think so."  
I meet the woman's eye for just a moment before turning back to the bar. I wait, until I hear the distinct sounds of chain mail boots on the wooden floor. I grin into my mug. This is the chance I've been waiting for. The woman and her entourage reach my stool and I start before she does.  
"You're new around here aren't you?" I turn to face her and continue without waiting for her obvious answer. "Keep your wits about you. Your nothing but tits n' ass for the men in this place and they won't hesitate to grab at both."  
The woman smirks again but her overall expression is open and friendly. I get a closer look at her and her group. I recognize the dwarf, Varric I think his name is. The elf has a face full of tattoos and a stick growing out of her back. An elven mage then. The man is also a mage, with a cuddly-looking cloak of feathers. I wonder how many birds he had to kill for that. Mages are the most peculiar of creatures.  
"Speaking from experience are we?" the woman says, bringing my attention back to her. She's a pretty thing, with an impressively large sword peeking up from behind her shoulder. Hmm. I chuckle appreciatively.  
"After a few broken fingers here and there, they got the idea."  
I curtsey, not exactly knowing why. "I'm Isabela." I hesitate. "Previously Captain Isabela. Sadly, without my ship the title rings a bit hollow."  
"Marian Hawke," the woman offers with a slight incline of her head. A familiar greeting.  
"You're Ferelden, aren't you?" I inquire. She raises one sharp eyebrow and I clarify. "You have that look about you. I was in Denerim not too long ago."  
I think back to the tasty Warden my old pal Zev introduced me to and examine this...Hawke again. Yes, she could work.  
"you might be just what I'm looking for to solve a little problem I have," I begin.  
Hawke frowns comically. "Can't anyone fix their own lives around here?" she drawls. I smirk.  
"Must be something in the water," I say with a shrug. Her eyes glimmer with amusement, and I'm suddenly sure we'll get along just fine. Time to tell my mini life story—without discriminating details of course.  
"Someone from my past has been pestering me. I've arranged for a dual." I pause. Hawke says nothing, so I go on. "If I win, he leaves me alone. But I don't trust him to play fair. I need someone to watch my back."  
She scrutinizes me curiously, and asks a few questions. Easy enough, until she asks about Lucky. But after a few innuendos and a subtle change of subject, she knows to leave well enough alone.  
"I think I can manage watching your back," she decides. I grin and let my eyes enjoy her body. Very pretty indeed.  
"I'll bet," I purr. A little flirting never hurt anybody. I swagger past her,—careful to sway my hips—relaying instructions. She turns to watch me leave and I smile again.  
This'll be fun.


	2. Act 1: Lost Kitten

I grin wickedly as I sweep my newly won silvers into my coin purse.

"It seems, Havoc," I say to the devastated face of my newest victim, "That you have a ways to go before you reach the level of the Queen of the Seas. Until then you deserve a good whipping for your failure…by someone else."

I haven't sunk that low. Yet.

As the chagrined man performs his walk of shame out of the bar, a familiar brooding face walks in. I wave my hand in an embarrassing spasm to both catch his attention and rile him up. He looks up, ever watchful, and he recognizes me with a grumpy frown. He makes his way over, curling his lip as he steps disdainfully over a comatose drunk. He gives a pair of jiggling singing women a wide berth and collapses on the stool across from me.

"Always an adventure here, eh, lil' wolf?" I say, saluting him with my half-empty bottle. Fenris gives me a look just shy of a snarl before filching my ale and taking a swig. He glares at it, an insulting show of distaste.

"This tastes like urine mixed with dwarf mead," he spits.

Always ray of sunshine, our Fenris.

"Sorry the Hanged Man couldn't live up to your fine Tevinter standards," I drawl cheerfully. He doesn't respond, just gives the poor bottle a broody stare.

I've only known Fenris for two months, since Hawke picked him up from a raid on a mansion or something. I wasn't there when it happened, and the elf is difficult to befriend, but I find that I want to earn his trust…sort of. He isn't bad on the eyes either. But at the moment, I'm bored and don't feel like entertaining him.

A familiar voice catches my attention, and I look to the bar. Anders is ordering a pint of ale and he hasn't noticed us yet. I smile an idea that will hopefully ease my boredom.

"Oi, Anders!" I noisily scrape my chair back from the table. The mage looks up at the sound of his name and our eyes meet. I give him an invitingly demure wave and he begins to briskly walk in my direction, ale in hand. Then he sees who my tablemate is, and he doesn't look so eager. I watch as he gravitates between turning back and doing the polite thing by sitting with us. His better nature wins out and he reluctantly pulls up a chair. Good old Fenris scowls his disapproval. Both men are alternating between exchanging glares with each other and desperately looking to me to lead the conversation. Well, Anders is, Fenris just looks irritable, but he always looks like that so I take it as a good sign. Anyway, I'm always happy to help.

"So good of you to join us, Anders!" I cheer jovially, raising my (fenris'?) bottle to him. He nods stiffly in my direction. I smile in encouragement.

"Fenris and I were just talking about you," I say, ignoring the elf's confused and suspicious look. "He told me that you must be inclined to cross-dressing, due to your…fancy choice of outfits." I lean forward, resting my chin on my folded hands innocently. "Is that true?"

Anders bristles and shoots dagger eyes at Fenris, who is staring back with an adorably puzzled gaze. He doesn't defend himself; he's to proud. I was counting on that. I tap my chin thoughtfully.

"Granted, he said this in response to what you told me earlier, Anders," I continue slyly. Now it's the mage's turn to give me the look. Both men haven't said anything yet.

"Oh, you know, when you wondered if his very large sword was compensating for the size of his—" I gesture towards Fenris' lower half "…package?"

Fenris jumps from his chair, eyes lit up with fury. Anders reaches for his staff and rises to meet him. Both of them seem to have forgotten the hows and whys of this new argument, only that they must now defend their honour. Simple men, always ignoring logic and reason if their masculinity is challenged. This is too easy, but at least I'm not bored anymore. I lean back in my chair to watch the show.

Heavy steps trot toward me and I tense, hand poised for my daggers.

"Rivaini, I need to speak with you," Varric mutters conspiratorially in my ear. I sigh, admiring my handiwork regretfully. They have passed the hissing and spitting stage and are about to pounce. But I follow the dwarf to his room, two doors down from mine. I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he's either worried or angry. I decide to go with the latter.

"Listen, this is just a chance for those idiots to settle their little pissing contest, I'm doing this with the best of intentions," I explain to his back.

"This isn't about your games Rivaini," he says impatiently, finally turning to meet my gaze. His brow is furrowed and he fidgets restlessly.

Alright, worried then.

"What is it Varric? Writer's block? chest hair falling out? Have a fight with Bianca—?"

"Do I look like my thick curls are thinning?" he asks skeptically. I examine the luscious thatch of hair under his vest and reconsider.

"It's Bianca, then? What did you do to her, Varric Tethras!"

He just looks at me, clearly not in the joking mood he usually is. I shrug and raise an eyebrow. Varric sighs and says, "Merrill's missing, probably hurt or lost or…something."

I blink. Not what I was expecting. He didn't even use the word, 'Daisy.'

"Are you sure?" Now its my turn to be skeptical.

Varric looks helpless. "We were supposed to meet in the Lowtown market a few hours ago, but she never showed.

What is Varric doing meeting the little kitten in Lowtown? About four steamy scenarios develop in my head, but I push them away. Down to business. I'm in quest mode now. "Maybe she's in the Viscount's gardens again, or she forgot about your date and is frolicking around her hut at this very moment."

Varric shakes his head. "I've looked everywhere. Hell, I've even been to Hawke's," he grimaces. "That was an experience."

Varric and I both share a dislike for Gamlen.

"And where is Hawke in all this?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"He's out there looking, of course. You know how he is." I certainly do. That do-gooder is always out playing Kirkwall's super nanny.

I frown "And you're telling me this because…?"

Varric frowns back. "I thought you were fond of Daisy?"

I throw up my hands and say, "Of course, but she's not a child, she can look after herself. Hello? Blood magic?"

Varric stares at me with a pleading expression. We have a staring contest for a minute.

_Damned dwarf…Damned elf…She'll be fine…I'm not her mommy.__  
_

_Damn it all!_

I concede defeat. "Where should we look next?"

...

We found Merrill in Darktown.

She was wondering around aimlessly when I spotted her pointy ears among the desperate and depraved. I grabbed Varric and Hawke and steered them in her direction.

Now, she looks at our search party with a bewildered expression.

"Strange, seeing you all here, I thought I'd be lost for days," she chirps.

"What are you doing, Daisy, we've been looking all over for you!" Varric demands with exasperation. Merrill blinks.

"I was on my way to the market, but then I ended up here. I don't know why." She turns her big elven eyes on us, one by one. "I didn't mean to raise such a fuss! Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Hawke sighs and rolls his shoulders wearily. "Well, crisis averted, I'm going home to finish my cold stew." He pats Merrill's head affectionately and melts into the crowd.

Varric and I share a bemused glance. "Alright, Daisy, let's get you home," he says.

"Oh, yes, thank you, Varric," she says sweetly, making me want to shake her with either relief or fury, I can't decide. She cluelessly turns to me and begins to tweet in my ear.

"I thought you would be busy at the Hanged Man this time of night, Isabela. Do you think you could teach me how to play that money-card game you always play…"

...

Fortunately we make it back to the Alienage without the ground opening up and swallowing us—and without losing Merrill, again.

"Here we are, home sweet home, Daisy," Varric says.

"Thank you so, so much, you two!" Merrill says again. I finally lose it, I'm honestly surprised I've lasted this long. I clasp her shoulders tightly, leaning so close that her big bright eyes merge into one.

"Don't ever, for all our sakes, go missing again," I say slowly, trying to make her understand. She nods jerkily, as if her neck is broken, and I step back. Varric is smirking at me and I grin none too nicely back. Just because I like the girl doesn't mean he can give me such all-knowing looks. His grin widens and his teeth glimmer in the glow of the moon.

With a cheery wave, Merrill skips into her rat-infested home. The dwarf and I settle for the walk back to our tavern.

I wonder if Anders and Fenris are still going at it. Probably.

...

Hawke, Merrill, Varric, Aveline, and I are on our way to brutally murder a pack of outlawed Qunari here in the Wounded Coast. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining on the open sea, Varric and Hawke are talking shop, and Aveline and I are trading a barrage of scathing insults.

Just another day with Isabela and company. Aveline is the first to give up our verbal brawl and I content myself with watching the churning waves.

"Thank you very much for the help earlier, Varric," Merrill's lilting voice reaches my ears and I feel a spark of annoyance. _I helped you too!_ I eavesdrop wile gazing at the water.

Varric says, "You made it back to the Alienage in one piece, then?"

_Is he being sarcastic?_ _Purposely goading me into voicing my contribution? Damn dwarf._

"I don't know how I wound up in Darktown. There are just too many corners in Kirkwall."

"Still got that ball of twine?"

_What?_

"I left it at my house."

A pause. I can just imagine Varric's face.

"Don't worry! I won't get lost while we're following Hawke," she says quickly.

Varric sighs "Bring it next time, just in case."

I chuckle to myself. At least I have a comrade in the newly titled Look Out For Merrill Squad.

It's a very nice day indeed.


	3. Act 1: Nothing Ventured

AN: Pirate lingo at the bottom!

"We've been hit, Cap'n!" Bruce cries.

No shit. The Siren's Call shudders and rocks feverously. I'm still gripping the bollard tightly, hands and wood slippery with rain. My crew rallies around me, trying their damnedest to escape the enemy ships that are now less than a league behind us. They aren't just any old boats attempting to sink us either. They're a Qunari Dreadnaught, an elite fleet controlled by a breed of ox-horns who waste their entire lives finding new ways to kill people. As for why they're after us…well…

I untie my sash, reassuring myself that the Relic is still there. This dusty old book is the key to saving my life. If I lose it, my old boss will slit my throat with a grin on his face. These giant bastards won't get their hands on it.

I grab my telescope and jog over to the bow, weaving in and out of my panicked crew. Bruce follows me.

"We canna' evade them much longer Cap'n," he reports.

"Keep trying, Bruce. Unless you want to be the one to tell the Arishok that this is all a complete misunderstanding when they catch us," I retort a bit sharply. While Bruce sputters behind me, I lift the telescope to my eyes.

We have just passed the border into the Free Marches, leaving Antiva behind—along with our lead on the Arishok and his oxen. Our starboard side features a long line of rocky cliffs. I've never sailed this part of the Amaranthine Ocean. Usually I go further south, towards Ferelden.

Ah, balls.

Up ahead, a storm is brewing, festering slightly to port. Bruce catches this as well.

"Andraste's ass! I rather take my chances with the Qunari than try my luck with a monsoon!" he cries. Ignoring him, I examine the rising waves in front of me. If we go forward, we face the heart of the storm and a long line of rock just waiting to sink us. I look back…to see that the Qunari has halved the distance between us. This is the very definition of choosing between a rock and a hard place—the storm or the Qunari Dreadnaught. Take your pick.

Bruce whimpers at my side. "Are they so desperate for our heads that they'll hound us into this?"

I blink and narrow my eyes at him. "You think they will?" I ask quietly. Bruce runs a hand through his greasy black hair.

"They ain't slowin' down, ain't they?" he barks over the growing storm, flailing his arms at the Dreadnaught. I frown thoughtfully, an idea forming.

"How much experience do you think they have sailing through storms, Bruce?" I ask, refusing to take my eyes off the ambiguously large ships closing in.

"What makes you think I know a damn thing 'bout them rams?" he growls. I barely hear him, the idea has formed. But its risky.

Very risky.

Ah, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as I've always said.

I make my way to the midst of the chaos of my ship, leaping on a barrel full of mead. I steady myself by grasping the mainmast and put two fingers between my teeth to blow a shrill whistle. Most of my crew turns to face me. Their eyes are bright with the hope that I'll come through for them as I have in the past.

"Men of the Siren's Call!" I shout, catching the attention of any stragglers. "Those Qunari bastards are dogging our heels and will soon sink our noble ship!"

The hope fades from my men's eyes. Good. Makes them desperate enough to go through with my plan. The wind picks up and I have to yell louder to be heard.

"We need to lose those ox-horns! And to do that, we need to sail into that!" I wave my arm at the approaching storm. My crew stares at me with expressions varying from doubt to horror.

"Are you out of your mind, woman!" Jacky shrieks.

"We'll get wrecked to bits!" wails Mika.

I lose my patience.

"A special second option for the cowards is to grab something that floats and hope you don't drown when you go overboard!" I snap. There are a few grumbles but nobody goes for an empty barrel, so I count that as a consensus.

I smile at my crew, hoping it doesn't look more like a grimace. "All right, men! Turn her to port, hoist the mainsails, grab something heavy and solid!"

My crew jumps to attention, obeying my orders. A pale-faced Bruce moves to take the helm. I grin for real, now that the decision has been made and put into action.

"Feeling a little sick, are we Bruce?" I crow cheerfully. He makes a vulgar suggestion with his hand and I laugh. I jump down from my barrel and race over to the bow, arms spread to embrace the storm before me. This is what it means to sail the open seas! The wind enfolds me like an old friend.

I reach the helm and push Bruce away, as this requires the fine direction of a woman. The waves become rockier and higher. The Siren's Call lifts and rocks dangerously. The wind howls and rips through my body. My hair is flapping wildly and my bandana threatens to tear away. Adrenaline courses through my veins as fear and the Qunari Dreadnaught are forgotten. All I see and feel is my current adversary, the unforgiving storm. Lightning forks into the sea, swiftly followed by the crack of deafening thunder. I throw back my head and laugh a challenge into the sky.

"Come and get me!"

...

"Rivaini…hey, Rivaini!"

I jerk awake to the sound of Varric's gravelly voice. I slit open one bleary eye to see the damned dwarf grinning at me.

"Come on, Rivaini!" he says again. "Its past midday and we gotta meet Hawke and Aveline at the Barracks!"

I wince at his loud, chipper voice, my head pounding to the beat of my pulse.

"Hawke is a shit-faced slave driver," I groan. Varric bellows, and I begin to feel like my head is about to explode.

"Aww, you don't mean that! Its just the hangover talking."

I sigh and close my eyes, trying to remember what went on last night. Then it comes to me.

"Did I win?" I ask. The dwarf chuckles ruefully.

"Are you kidding? You drank me into submission, Rivaini!"

I allow myself a moment of victory and tentatively sit up. My vision swims for a moment, but I wait patiently and the world eventually rights itself. Well at least I'm in my own bed this time.

Varric says, "Times a waistin'! We're already late!"

I glare viciously at him. "I swear, you stubby little dwarf, if you hurry me up one last time, I will make it so you'll lose the ability to have children."

He stares at me with mock horror. "You wouldn't dare! My seed is too valuable," he drawls.

My response is another glare as I concentrate on standing up. Glass bottles clink cheerfully as the bed is relieved of my weight and I stagger a couple of steps. Varric steadies me with a gloved hand.

"Come one, all you need is a good dose of fresh air," he assures me. We begin the slow journey out of the Hanged Man. My thoughts return to my dream—or more accurately, my memory. An unfamiliar feeling of shame pricks at my skin.

"From Fearsome Captain of the seas to a stranded drunk leaning on the leather-clad shoulder of a merchant dwarf," I mutter, wondering how in the world my life skewed so far in the wrong direction.

Varric pats my back in a way that can only be described as fatherly and looks up at me. "Have your pity-party later. Hell, unload your sorrows on me if you want. But today, we need your sharp blades and cunning wit, Rivaini," he says.

I smile down at him, rethinking my position here. I've been in worse spots with worse company.

This'll do. For now.

...

Sailing terms:  
Bollard: short post on a wharf or ship to which ropes are tied  
Bow: front of a ship  
Starboard: when facing forward, the right side of a ship  
Port: when facing forward, the left side of the ship  
Mainmast: sailing ship's principal mast  
Mainsail: principal sail on a ship's mainmast  
Helm: ship's steering wheel


	4. Act 1: Doubts

"And then I said, 'look in your coin purse'!"

Hawke threw back her head and howled with snorting laughter. I join in, though I know the joke isn't that funny. Must be the drink talking.  
We were celebrating our success in finally gathering enough coin for the Deep Roads expedition. Hawke is going under tomorrow.

I'm supporting most of the mage's body weight to take her home. I was only halfway drunk. Poor Hawke drank twice the weight of a Qunari and can barely keep one foot in front of the other.

Gamlen's hovel is less than a few blocks away, and I'm all but dragging my drunken friend through the streets. It's all in good fun though, gives me the chance to thoroughly explore all her…assets.

"You're being very helpful tonight, Izzzzy," Hawke slurs.

I chuckle. "If you keep calling me that I won't be so selfless," I tease. Hawke laughs again.

"Izzy, Izzy, Isabela!" she chants, revelling in her new game. I sigh good-naturedly. At this rate, everyone will have a pet name for me. Varric's 'Rivaini'; Aveline's 'whore' (though I don't think that's very creative); and now Hawke's 'Izzy.'

Alas, the price of being loved.

Due to Hawke's incoherent ramblings, I'm left with look out duty. And 'supporting the drunken mage' duty. And 'knowing the way to Gamlen's house' duty. Lovely.

As I try to get more specific directions out of Hawke, something flashes at the corner of my eye. I tense and turn to look before realizing I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I whip back around—or staggered clumsily around, still keeping a tight hold on Hawke—in time to dodge a hulking man with a swinging axe. He still clips my shoulder and I stumble, my hold on Hawke loosening. I reach awkwardly for my daggers, bracing myself for another blow. I look up to see that the man has backed off to stand alongside his circle of buddies surrounding us.

The man who first attacked us—most likely the leader—leers at his prey appreciatively.

"Look at this boys," he barks. "We got ourselves some pretty wenches with some shiny goods."

His buddies snicker. Hawke pushes away from me and stands tall, trying to appear intimidating. I think she would have sold it if not for the tipsy swaying of her body.

"You don't wanna' do this," she says slowly, her second attempt at intimidation. While juiced, it lost its bluster. "I'm Hawke, a very, um, powerful mercenary mage!"

I resist the urge to cover my face. The gang caws around us.

"I don't care if you're the Queen of Antiva," the leader guffaws.

I've had enough. "Do you care about this?" I ask, artfully launching my dagger. It digs in the leader's shoulder to the hilt. He howls and his men fall upon us.  
With a grin, I pull out a couple more daggers and begin the intricate dance of dueling. My mind shuts down and I rely completely on my instincts. My blades are an extension of my arm, weaving and slashing viciously through my opponents. I can almost feel the skin tearing under the razor-sharp edges.

I'm on my fourth victim when I feel a searing heat on the right side of my body. The man in front of me is set ablaze and runs, squealing. He makes it a few yards before he collapses, twitching and whimpering. The remaining gang members take one look at the burning corpse and take off. The leader stumbles and falls over one of my messier kills and yelps. He scrambles up and races after the others, arms pin wheeling.

I'm laughing when my arm starts to tingle, then burn. I look down.

"Shit!" My arm is on fire. I frantically pat the flames out and I hiss between my teeth when I see the damage. Anders better leave me without a scar on this one.

"Maker's breath, Hawke! Were you trying to make a meal out of—?"

I look over to see her staring at her open palms in horror. She raises her head to face me and my lips part in surprise to see the vulnerable look there. This is new.

"They're right, Isabela," she says hoarsely, sounding surprisingly sober.

I lift one eyebrow. "Who's right?"

"Fenris, the templars, Carver…" her voice trails off at the mention of her brother. "I'm not only a mage, but I'm a weak-minded one too. I can't even control a damned fireball!"

I stare at her, waiting for the punch line. "Did you hit your pretty head in that fight?" I snap. "You're the one who saved my ass from Hayder! You're the one who served that slug Meeran for a year! And you're the one venturing into the Deep Roads to get some coin for your family! As for Carver and Fenris? They're both just bitter men who take out their problems on others!"

I stop to take a breath. Hawke stares wide-eyed at me for a couple minutes before replying meekly, "Carver helped too."

I throw up my hands. That's her brilliant argument?

"Come on, let's get you home," I say irritably. Hawke obediently walks at my side.

Don't get me wrong. Hawke may irritate me at times with her constant interference on other's lives, or her tendency for mercy on the roaches skulking in this city. But I admire her for her courage and wit, as much as I consider her a friend. I'm just not very good at comforting people. To me, it seems desperate to just unload my feelings and shortcomings on people. They rarely have the right thing to say or suggest, and half the time, they don't give a damn. So I usually give my friends the hard truth.

We reach Gamlen's rickety old door. "Alrighty, home, safe and sound," I chirp. Hawke reaches for the handle and I can't resist spanking her ass before making my way down the steps.

"Hey, Izzy."

I turn to see Hawke, hand still on the handle, body half-facing me. She scrutinizes me for a moment, and then breaks into a grin.

"Thanks for whipping my ass into shape. Physically and figuratively."

I wink slyly at her. "You can repay me with your body when you make it back to the surface."

She chuckles and opens the door while I continue down the steps. I'm almost out of sight when she calls to me again.

"I might just take you up on your offer one day!"


End file.
